It was planned to be a night of alcohol and video game rage. A small tradition that I fell into almost every weekend, once upon a time. But with Christmas coming and going, and the general public's need for more people to tell them what's in stock and what isn't, work had filled more weekends that I had free, and it had now been several weeks since I had benefited from Miles' presence. A long, lonely several weeks of waking up, going to work, and coming home to sleep off my exhaustion. So when the time came for my manager to notice that I was practically falling asleep as I was scanning items through the register, he gave me my normal hours back, and quickly the old pattern of visiting Miles almost every weekend was back to it's normal regime, even with the small ventures I had been taking on my own.

That didn't go without saying that my time spent with Miles was something I enjoyed. Even something as simple as having a few drinks and taking turns playing Resident Evil 7 until we're both laughing at the other's ragequits was something I found more enjoyable than most people would. Alcohol numbs so much, and it's nice not to feel anything sometimes.

Especially when it peaks my confidence and turns me into someone that had forgotten what anxiety and fear was and ends up screaming at the television - either by a jump scare or because Jack Baker is relentless in killing Ethan Winters – and pegs the controller at the bed, making it bounce off the mattress while her head falls into her lap, while Miles sits on his office chair snickering, then erupts with laughter as he sees how I'm positioned.

And I look back up, staring straight through the TV, ignoring the words 'Try Again?' flashing in bold, red lettering, and I realise I'm down for the night. Despite the alcohol fuelled adrenaline coursing through my veins, I'm more worried about destroying the TV than I am about beating Jack Baker.

And Miles, still snickering to himself, gets up from his office chair to stand on wobbly feet and stumbles downward towards the game console to eject the disk.

"Wanna try something else?" He offers, as the screen turns blue and lights up the dark room in a glowing hue, singing a melodic, soft tune as the bootup screen typically does when it's switched to the main menu.

I shrug. "I don't really care."

He turns his head to look at me, and my eyes dart from the screen to his face. The cast of light from the TV overshadows one side and outlines the dips in his cheekbones, the hardness of his jaw and the way his chin stuck out more than an average persons would. His hair, all frizzy and mangled, out from the ponytail he usually upkeeps, was catching the light in it's stuck-out strands, just like his eyes were catching a glitter effect in their irises. Even though I was intoxicated, and rightfully knew so, it didn't stop the tension building and my bottom lip becoming caught in between my teeth as I imagined his hips between my legs.

The upside to drinking was that you could forget all your worries. Whatever bothered you before was a distant memory in the moment, once the alcohol seeps it's way into your brain and lightens your body like a cloud where drifting off wasn't far. It was like space and it's infinice; a slow drift into a semi-concious world of anti-gravity, soon stumbling over words like the first time you learnt them and walking like a wheelchair wouldn't be a bad option. That feeling of carelessness was something my sober self wished they could do without having doubt, anxiety, and caution clouding over a storm of fear. But when I drank, she didn't exist. I no longer worried about the negatives because I was too busy focusing on action, and while I crawled across the bed towards Miles, imagining how his lips felt against mine, he had his backed turned to me, opening Netflix for a pastime that wasn't going to happen.

And while I figure that I'm less than quiet in approaching him from behind, I don't pay attention to that fact while I softly kneel to the ground and crawl towards his silhouette like a lion on the prowl. He doesn't turn around, and I guess he doesn't hear me in that sense, because once my arms wrap around his shoulders and embrace his front, he jumps a little in surprise and my lips go straight to his neck. Mid-frozen, he relaxes as he realises what I'm doing. Hands trail down his firm chest, held skin tight by the cotton t-shirt he wears, and I've got kisses trailing all the way from the neck leading down towards his collarbone. His head turns towards mine, and I look up on instinct to see the flicker of the TV in his eyes before his lips crash to mine and a wave of electricity washes over.

But can I really blame it all on the alcohol for numbing my mouth so I can't feel it when his teeth click with mine? Or for gripping onto his shirt so tight he ends up removing it himself before diving back into me? I don't think I can. I've always believed that this mind-numbing juice was a truth serum. A concoction designed to relieve the pressure of the lies I weave and expose my confidence from behind walls of anxiety and paranoia. And as I hold onto his shoulders, he dips me back towards the ground, releasing shaky breathes between saliva soaked kisses and I take a moment to open my eyes and look up at his in the dim light, only to whisper breathlessly, "I fucking love you."

For a moment, I notice the shock in his eyes, like he doesn't know how to process my spluttering choice of words. His face remains calm, but there's still that uncertainty lurking behind his features, especially when he responds, "Really?"

And all I can do is nod; partially because I believe it's true, partially because I'm three quarters of the way to straddling him down.

And it's like relief has washed over, because the next thing I see is his crooked smile before he breathes, "Fuck. I love you too, Kara."

As our lips connect again, I feel the overwhelming sensation of skin on skin contact, as his hands run up my shirt and go straight for my tits like a pirate for gold, and all I can think about is how much I do incredibly love this boy. But I can't think clearly enough, because I'm already consumed by the high of the alcohol, and the rise of my hormones as they take over. Alcohol is great in the sense that it helps you forget how you're supposed to feel, not how you truly feel.

Miles backs up, getting up from his knees onto his feet, extending his hand down so that I may take it and have him pull me up on wobbling feet, only to be picked up and carried over to his bed. Chuckles escape from the back of my throat as my body bounces on the mattress. He pulls the tie of his sweatpants to push them down to his ankles, and the erection springs out, pointing at me, and I'm still chuckling for reasons I can't pinpoint.

Suddenly, he's hovering over me. Hands and knees on either side of my body, completely naked, he leans down and bites my bottom lip to instantly silence me and I fall into his kiss like water flows over the edge of a mountain, and all signals within me point towards receiving the pleasure that Miles is offering without speaking aloud. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer towards me, while his hands trail under my shirt and his thumb hooks on to pull it up over my chest, and his face disconnects from the knot of my mouth right to the soft mounds, where his tongue overlaps the bumps that send stings of pleasure through my body. I feel them in my veins, controlling my motions, knotting my fingers into his long mane, and maybe it's this point I've realised that I've completely lost control of myself.

It's so lightweight, to be able to enjoy this kind of pleasure without the need to feel tied down. I'm forcing Miles to continue by pushing his head down into my chest, and then further down my body, down towards where my legs are spread and I'm absentmindedly pulsing the air for his mouth to be wrapped around the most sensitive area of my body. For all that it means, it just proves I want him more. For all that he knows, he can tell that I just want to beg for it.

When his tongue hits me in the wettest spot imaginable, it takes everything inside me not to scream out for him to fuck me. It shakes up my voice into jagged breathes, especially when I cover my mouth with my hand and my breathing becomes hot and heavy behind my fingers. I can't look down at him while he's there, so my eyes shut and my head buries itself back into the mattress, still feeling flicks and electric pulses surge through me from my deepest core. My body begins to arch, forcing more of me into his mouth, while my free hand runs right through his hair and holds on for dear life, pulling it closer in, and there's a gasp that escapes through the cracks between my fingers, so I let my hand fall to my side and as a groan releases from the back of my throat, I finally look down and say it.

"I just wanna fuck you."

And there's no pause between my words and his actions. Once I've spoken my thoughts aloud, he's already pulling his tongue away from my clit and quickly kissing up my body, over my stomach, then my chest, then onto the dint of my collarbone, where my pulse is so quick I'm sure he can hear it. Light kisses make their way up my neck, but then stop suddenly, right under my jaw, where his face pulls away and our eyes connect briefly before he glances down and takes a hold of his cock.

I'm already spread open for him. I'm ready for what's to come next. It feels like I've been waiting a lifetime, when really I know in the back of my brain I'll be back here again for the same treatment. I couldn't resist Miles and I couldn't resist how he made me feel, and if my hormone driven brain is telling me anything in the moment it's to stop worrying about how tomorrow's going to be and to focus on the pleasure of the now.

There's a slight pause before he inserts, rubbing the head up and down, listening to the wet clicks that sound forth. His teasing makes me hasty, my hips giving a slight hitch to trick him into pushing in, but I don't wait for long. He pushes it down, pushing the head further into me, and I feel my walls constrict as his muscles push further, and further, until I feel that I'm ready to have it pump in and out of me. The electric vibes I felt before have doubled, and then tripled as he pulls. A small moan erupts from the back of my throat, and Miles lips twitch into a lazy grin, his body coming down closer onto mine.

Like music, there's rhythm in sex. Both people keeping in time to ensure that every pulse and every thrust is in line with their same actions. Miles has the upper hand being on top to take the most control, but underneath him I feel alive. I've got the advantage to push my body to take as much as I need. Right now, I'm completely selfish, wanting all of him, as he pumps himself about halfway into me and I'm overcome with the drive of a start-up pornstar. His slow movements begin to speed up, pushing in and out, rubbing the inside of my walls that vibrate with a pleasurable sensation. My nails dig into his back, slowly scraping across his smooth, light brown skin, more than likely leaving indents.

Hearts racing, skin perspirating, breathing quickening as we move together silently. He speeds up, forcing as much of himself inside me. There's already a wet patch leaking itself onto his sheets, underneath me where it's cold and damp, but it's only briefly a flash of concern while I feel the rise in my core building up. A droplet of sweat drips down off Miles, landing on my chest, sliding down my breast as they bounce in tune to every thrust that's pumping in and out of me, and the small gap between us is filled as his face comes down closer to mine.

He whispers, "I think I'm gonna come."

I can feel my eyes widen in hazy excitement. It takes all my self-control to strain myself from taking over and flipping him onto his back, where I could surely finish the job myself. But I was too intoxicated, too into the rhythm of our movements. I didn't want to break us apart, even for a few seconds that I could probably use to catch my breath.

Instead, I slid my hands from his back to his forearms, gripping his biceps tightly, staring up into his hazel eyes while my back begins to arch upwards for a deeper plunge. And there's a half-sly smile on my face as I whisper back, "Well then, you better make sure it's all over me."

A smile cracks across his face, noticeably trying to hide the chuckle that threatens to escape as a scoff covers it, following the bite of his bottom lip, and his speed begins to increase. He goes in slightly deeper, a gasp escaping past my lips, my hands instantly latching onto his soft skin. His hips push, in and out, with his cock following suit, and my breathing becomes jagged and louder.

And as Miles pumps faster, and becomes more aggressive in his thrusts, he growls as another bead of swear falls off his forehead, "I'm gonna fucking come."

A drunken smile appears, my nails still gripping onto his arms, slurring as I speak above a whisper, "Do it."

And it's like he works on cue, as his mouth falls agape, a moan and groan rolling off his tongue. His pelvis backs up, his cock hard and sticky, and he takes it in his hand, rubbing it aggressively as he kneels over my naked body.

A loud moan follows, and he shoots it out, going in all directions all over my stomach. His face scrunches up, quickly relaxes, then scrunches up to let a relieved and satisfied groan escape his throat as he slows down the pace of pumping his own cock. Then, he's fallen next to me, one arm collapsing over my belly, but actively avoiding the area he's released onto.

The two of us lay, side by side, taking in deep breaths and exhaling them again. Miles' arm begins to relax, and as his breathing slows down I look to my side to find his eyes closed, but his mouth agape to let the breathes flow in and out as they please. As he begins to relax, and rest himself, my eyes flicker towards the ceiling, patiently waiting for the moment I'm able to sit up and clean up the mess someone else has made.